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Yeah, a week ago he mentioned in passing that he had a tiny infection in one of his injection sites. (He takes Rebif for his MS and does 3 injections a week.) I told him to keep it clean and use an antibiotic cream on it.

Come to find out, his idea of keeping it clean was to wipe it down with an alcohol prep pad and that was all.

Yesterday he ‘thought maybe the infection was a bit worse’ and should he try doing something else?

Without looking at it, (next time I look) I told him that maybe he needed a trip to the doctor just in case. Good thing I did.

We did a drop in at our Dr.’s emergency center. There, I finally got a look at the ‘infected site’ when the doctor took a look and my response was: “WTF! That’s no little infection you idiot!” No wonder he didn’t ask me to look at it.

He got two, yes, two shots of a hefty antibiotic in his butt, one in each cheek, and a prescription for 10 days of another one.

G had to postpone her staple removal to yesterday due to the snowstorm. She had a lot of staples in her knee and was crazy ready for them to come out.

After we left her doctor’s office, we went to the pharmacy to pick up her antibiotics and pain medication. She needs a delicate, light pain med or she’s off to lala land.

From there we came home and got her back into her house safe and sound.

Then I had to load Gavin into the car and take him to the vet’s office for his suture removal. That’s lifting 65 pounds of unwilling dog into the back of a van and coaxing him into a crate. It’s also lifting 65 lbs out, back in, and once home, out again and up the front steps.

What back pain…oh, you mean that…

Then after attempting to lift the downed Curmudgeon into his bed too many times tonight, I had to call 911 for help.

The guys from the nearby fire station know the routine pretty well and I was happy to see the familiar faces of the guys who were so sweet this summer and went over to G’s to get the AC she had and install it in my window. They always assure me it’s no problem to come and help him up when he has a bad day.

I’ve not been the nicest person to him, mainly because each demand he makes of me hasn’t helped my back pain. And each demand he’s made has been as soon as I’ve settled into a position where my back doesn’t hurt quite so bad.

Seriously, if I hit the lottery I am out of here. I cannot take much more without completely destroying my own mental and physical health. I’d leave him with a trust fund for his care but I am not now nor have I ever been a nurse. Being a nurse was never my career choice. Never. I am not the sort of person who can do the job, it is not a part of my being.

I can tile a floor and walls. I can break and train horses. Train and show dogs. Write. Garden. I have the credentials for veterinary assistant. I’ve done retail management and all sorts of office work.

When I was very young, someone told me I shouldn’t dream. The same someone always laughed and sneered at my ideas and me. I believed that someone for a long while. For many years I hid my dreams, buried them deep inside me, until they came close to dying.

If you do not attempt to reach for your dreams, you are not living. One day, my dreams and I began to live again.

That was when Dear Hubby came into my life, he told me I could and should always dream. He encouraged me to explore my ideas. He’s supported me, defended me, and is always in my corner. He has never once told me I couldn’t or shouldn’t. He tells me he is proud of me in whatever I do.

When I made some tough decisions in life, he stood beside me.

When he needs me, I am there for him. When he falls, I’ll pick him up. When he dreams, I encourage him. When he makes tough decisions, I stand beside him.